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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28792404">Midnight Crepes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliafied/pseuds/juliafied'>juliafied</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>DA Drunk Writing Circle Prompt Fills [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt, dadwc</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:34:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,192</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28792404</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliafied/pseuds/juliafied</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you alright?” he asks, sitting down next to her, albeit more gracefully.</p><p>“Yeah,” she says, and reproachfully adds, “you know, I’ve had almost an entire bottle of wine.”</p><p>Fenris knows. She’s been Champion for all of three weeks, and that means even the burden of working life has not yet made the stingy patrons of the Hanged Man forget to toast Hawke, the city’s saviour. Besides, Fenris knows a thing or two about disinfecting wounds, physical or otherwise, with the harsh sting of alcohol. But he is not a hypocrite, so he helps in the only way he knows how, by staying at her side while the bartender pours another, long past when she should have gone home.</p><p>“Good thing, too, otherwise that would have hurt a lot more.”</p><p>She leans back to laugh again and Fenris deftly catches her arm to prevent her from dashing the back of her head on the step above. “Good thing I’ve got plenty to cushion my fall.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fenris/Female Hawke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>DA Drunk Writing Circle Prompt Fills [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099877</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Midnight Crepes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For <a href="https://dadrunkwriting.tumblr.com/">DADWC</a>. Prompt from <a href="https://tevivinter.tumblr.com/">tevivinter</a> and <a href="https://pedlimwen.tumblr.com/">pedlimwen</a> on Tumblr: "Sharing a dessert" with Fenhawke please? &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>It is a curious thing, for Fenris, to be escorting Hawke home. The usually taut muscles of her arms that he often catches himself admiring in battle are soft as candlewax, and almost as warm, as she melts against his side in the long walk up the Hightown stairs. Eyes that usually gleam with a hunter’s aquiline sharpness are now soft and framed with dusky eyelashes; somehow, she has wrapped her arms around his right shoulder, and, knees slightly buckled, is beaming up at him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Fenris,” she slurs, corner of her mouth upturned in the way he likes so well. He turns away to smile.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Mmm.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Fenris,” she repeats, elongating the second syllable of his name, and stops afterwards to giggle at herself. “Fenris, you know what would be really good right now?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>An end to these Maker-damned stairs</em>, he thinks, but instead replies, “What?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“There’s this place<em>—</em>” and at that, in one swift movement, she lets go of his shoulder, turns, and lands her ass quite hard on the step ahead of them. “<em>Ouch</em>,” she whispers softly, so sweetly that he chuckles and cannot stop his heart from swelling. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Are you alright?” he asks, sitting down next to her, albeit more gracefully.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yeah,” she says, and reproachfully adds, “you know, I’ve had almost an <em>entire</em> bottle of wine.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Fenris knows. She’s been Champion for all of three weeks, and that means even the burden of working life has not yet made the stingy patrons of the Hanged Man forget to toast Hawke, the city’s saviour. Besides, Fenris knows a thing or two about disinfecting wounds, physical or otherwise, with the harsh sting of alcohol. But he is not a hypocrite, so he helps in the only way he knows how, by staying at her side while the bartender pours another, long past when she should have gone home.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Good thing, too, otherwise that would have hurt a lot more.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She leans back to laugh again and Fenris deftly catches her arm to prevent her from dashing the back of her head on the step above. “Good thing I’ve got plenty to cushion my fall.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Fenris does not want to think about the truth in that, and blinks hard before refocusing.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You were talking about some place.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh yeah! Fenris, they have cakes. And crepes, and stuff. Have you ever had a crepe?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I cannot say that I have, no.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A dramatic gasp from Hawke as her eyes open wide, and she pushes, precariously, up from his shoulder to stand. “We gotta go. It’s in Lowtown, and it’s open late!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Before he can protest, she is flying down the stairs, undone hair streaming behind her, and it is a wonder that she does not fall. He sighs, and looks up: they are squarely in the middle of the massive stairway. So be it, though <em>— </em>Hawke wants crepes.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The shop is indeed open, despite the late hour, and impressively, Hawke manages to order for them. They sit on the stoop of the house next to the creperie, and Hawke contentedly licks the caramel that has run down her fingers. It is in a sort of cone shape, and Fenris can see it is stuffed with some kind of fruit, sprinkled with cinnamon. He smiles at the familiarity of the smell, remembering the apples that Leda had always baked for Satinalia, back in Minrathous. He wonders whether she still does so, now.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hawke has already torn into the crepe, drunkenness the cousin of impatience, but rather sheepishly brandishes the cornet at him once she sees him looking.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s the apple pie one,” she mumbles, mouth still full. “Caramel drizzle. You like apples, right?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’s touched that she noticed, let alone that she remembers in her drunken haze. He smiles.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The crepe is good. The dough is lightly sweet, filling gooey and warm, and the cinnamon is of surprisingly good quality. He takes one delicate bite, and then another one. Hawke pouts, and he offers her the crepe. Instead of taking it from his hand, she takes a bite directly and looks altogether too pleased with the colour that fills his cheeks.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So good,” she says, and leans her shoulder against Fenris’ own. The smile fades from her face as she chews. It is replaced by something nostalgic and melancholy, a sigh and raised eyebrows, and she does not meet his eye.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Y’know,” she starts, and Fenris is alarmed at the wetness in her eyes, “Mother really liked this place. It might be open late, but we used to go a lot after the weekend market.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There is nothing to say, so he doesn’t say anything. His hand, though, comes to rest on her lower back as if of its own accord; he is relieved when she seems to relax into the gesture.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I know..” Hawke trails off, letting out a slow breath. She sounds more lucid than she has all evening, though she still stumbles over her words. “I know what this looks like. To you, to everyone. I can... Varric keeps giving me these looks. I just... I don’t know how to stop.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The crepe is forgotten in his hand, though he does vaguely notice the caramel sauce dripping on him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Stop what, Hawke?” he asks, softly.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Another laboured sigh, and now she leans the side of her head against his, too. She is so close that he can feel her breath, curiously smelling like mulled wine thanks to the cinnamon of the crepe.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>This</em>. I just thought... if I can’t keep my mother safe... I couldn’t keep Carver safe, Da... there was nothing I could do. And then<em>—”</em> She hiccups. “Then, this thing with the Arishok, and you said I could duel him, and...”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She looks up at him, tears wetting those dusty eyelashes, grey eyes filled with the kind of sorrow Fenris <em>knew</em> one could drown in.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I felt like I didn’t deserve to be safe either.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When he realizes what she is saying, he is first filled with regret, then heartbreak on her behalf, and finally, horror at his own actions. How did he not see her grief, her pain? Her two daggers against a two-handed sword and a greataxe? <em>How could he have suggsted the duel in the first place?</em> </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>No</em>,” she gasps, her eyes filling with horror in turn, and gently places a hand on Fenris’ knee. “It’s <em>not</em> your fault. I hid it really well, I didn’t want anyone to know, I... I’m just like this. I don’t know why, but I am. I swear.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>This does not make him feel any better.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>When he finally speaks, he is surprised that his voice is rough.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“<em>Hawke</em>,” he starts, his words a little strangled, “you <em>do</em> deserve to be safe. And if you can’t believe that for now, <em>I’ll believe it for you</em>.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It seems that Hawke now doesn’t know what to say, either, and they stare at each other for awhile, before she whispers a soft, “Thanks.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And, because she is still drunk and it is still the middle of the night, she takes her hand off his knee and declares, “Now, <em>give me that crepe</em>.”</p>
</div>
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